My money
My money
My money
My money

Is burning
burning
burning

I have not a use for it
No longer a clue
A wet dampened vine
The rich ready to dine

You tore at my throat
Destroyed the infinite floating boat
Scratched at insanities pulsating vein
And left me with nothing but feelings of the
inane

I hear you dance with hookers that pay high price
And men who would **** their own wives
As well as dog's leashes
Made of gold and Godly mold
That choke them of everything their supposed to know

Lost in a fray of absent minded flesh capsules
Kicking back tires of fat that make them sleepy and "right"
A burrito in the back of a drunk dinger's trunk
Used to be the same thing as Micheal Jordan's dunk

But lost in a world with a swirl of turmoil
Is nothing or of matter of fact for me
I've entered the 7th, the 8th, the 9th layer of Lennon's demons
I see God with all of his ripe lemons

Sense was the thing I used to be able to see and make use of
But now I see that the doves in the sky are better then apple pie
And the hours spent spinning in a bed that was never mine own
Is like owning a card game with a kangaroo with a gun

Fast break for the highway for its our only way out
Make a quick breakfast or a brown bubbling stout
I lost track of the money but whats it really matter anyway
You knew in the end that I'd never be able to stay